Fiend Angelical
by happychaos
Summary: A girl who plays the violin finds her way to the Parisian Opera House. Erik cannot resist her talent and begins to teach her, hidden behind the mirror once again...what will come of this encounter? NOT 'another woman' story *complete*
1. The Dark and Stormy Night

Fiend Angelical  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^hey, phantom-phans! What do I get to say here? The Phantom isn't mine; and I'm obviously not making money off of this, so don't sue! I only have seventy-three cents, anyway.The title I stole quite blatantly from Romeo and Juliet; it's from the scene when Juliet just finds out Romeo killed Tybalt. I just love the way it sounds! :P This story is about a young girl, Kristina, and everybody's favorite villain (..?) Erik! There is no romance (he and Christine were meant to be.) but lots of music and angst! There is also some small use of other languages (only a couple phrases) but I used on line translating sites, so if the grammar isn't good don't take offense! Please don't forget to review! Thanks so much for reading! And special thanks to SilverClawRose for editing this the whole way through. I love you, Osa-P!!! Go on, everybody, now read the story!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
It was a dark and stormy night.  
  
Young Kristina was scared, cold, and alone. She had with her only a carpetbag, more full of books than clothes, and a violin case. She clutched her coat, three sizes too big around her, as if it offered more than just cold wetness. A flash of lightening, closely followed by a resounding clap of thunder caused to her scream and run into the nearest building.  
  
The sudden change in scenery took her breath away. Inside the Parisian Opera house; things were bright and cheery. The red carpet was welcoming, the vaulted ceiling beautiful. For a full minute, the girl stood there, staring at the artful glory. When she came back down to earth, several aristocrats were looking down their noses at her wet and plain self, wondering whom she belonged to and what she was doing here. Luckily, at that moment a few late members of the orchestra walked into the lobby (on their way to the stage, no doubt) and, brandishing her violin case, she followed them.  
  
As soon she was out of sight of the patrons, she began asking questions of the violinists and flutists she had walked with. "Bitte könnten Herr, Sie mir erzählen, wo der Führer ist?" They looked at her strangely, as if they only now noticed she was with them. She was undoubtedly German, tall and large of frame, with long light hair and pretty blue eyes. Her lips were of a nice shape, but her nose was large and her looks were mostly plain. One of the violinists spoke a tad of German, and told her that they did not understand. She thought hard for a moment, and then spoke, brokenly, in French. "Please, Herr, tell me, where can I find the conductor?" They smiled amongst themselves, because what could such a young girl, for surely she couldn't be more than 15, want with the conductor of an orchestra as fine as themselves. However, they humored her and told he that although there was a performance very soon, she could wait and they would come fetch her afterwards. "Ach, danke schön! Thank you very much!" And she would have flung herself towards the musicians in a soggy embrace, had she not remembered at the last moment she was soaking wet. They quickly showed her to an old, unused dressing room and told her she could wait there, and that she should feel free to dry herself off, and use whatever clothes she could find in the closets.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
After thanking the musicians profusely, Kristina stripped off her wet garments and laid them on the dresser. She wrung her oversized coat over the floor, ridding it of as much water as possible. She then looked through the dressers, in search of something to wear.  
  
  
  
In the end she slipped on a beautiful white dress that she adored the moment she laid eyes on it. Twirling in front of the huge mirror; she giggled and the lines of worry erased from her face like magic, making her look much prettier. She sat down at the vanity and brushed her wet hair and made faces at herself when the tangles hurt. Suddenly she spoke, although it was not apparent to whom. "Signor, I simply must make myself presentable or else they might throw us right back out into the streets! Oh, how cold and hungry I am! Well, only hungry now, dear, not cold any longer thanks to those kind musicians. I wonder what it's like to play in such a large group. With luck we'll soon know, right Signor?" And then she got up and patted her violin case; and it becomes clear whom she was addressing. Friendless and alone in the world longer a time than was good for her, the young girl had attached great importance to her violin. Indeed, she called 'him' Signor out of respect for the good Italian neighbor who had made him for her. Strange, yes, but it perhaps she may have been driven quite mad by loneliness if it wasn't for the companionship of her instrument.  
  
Giggling, Kristina stood up and announced that in this beautiful white dress she looked and felt like a princess. Then she opened the violin case, tightened the bow and began to play.  
  
It was beautiful.  
  
Behind the mirror, Erik shuddered in pain. He wanted to run, to flee from the memories threatening to overtake him but he stayed; stayed and listen to the music produced from the young girl's fingertips. She was much younger than Christine; and her face was plain where Christine's had been stunning. This young girl was taller and sturdier; her figure not even echoing his Angel's. But, she was wearing Christine's old dress and her hair.her hair was the same golden sheet spilling over her shoulders and reaching towards her waist. That was quite enough to make him remember.  
  
He had had quite a shock when the girl had sat down at the mirror and started to speak to an unseen 'Signor'. He had been about to leave when she had caressed her violin with such gentle adoration that something panged in the monster's heart and caused him to stay where he was and observe.  
  
Without warning she stopped playing and burst into tears. Her violin slipped into her lap; the bow to the floor but she was heedless of them both. Her wails were choked with tragedy and she made no move to soften the noise. It was quite infuriating to Erik; who rarely even left his rooms anymore and never touched his instruments at all. Before losing his infamous temper at the girl, he turned to leave; and stopped. Perhaps.but then he shook his head and sang a soft, angry song "It's over now.the music of the night." Her wails doubled in volume. "STOP CRYING!!!" 


	2. the Voice

Fiend Angelical  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^So, do you like it so far? I hope so. Please don't forget to review!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
  
  
Kristina sprang to her feet, sending her invaluable violin to the floor. She didn't notice, didn't hear at all, there was only one thought, an enormous and resounding that filled her head. To hear that voice again! It was beautiful, no other word. Pure, sad, sweet, angry.even in the two annoyed words the voice had given her, she knew it to be a voice of magic and secrets and music. Music, best of all.  
  
It was then she realized Signor was lying face down on the floor. Biting her lip to keep the tears from coming, she knelt over and discovered that he was fine. She stood up again, and feeling a bit foolish, spoke.  
  
"Bitte- I mean, please, sir, who are you?" The hand around her violin's scroll turned white when no one answered. "Sir," she began, and tears were evidently on their way. "Sir, please! Who are you? Again, silence met her pleas. "Sir, if you don't speak, I'm sure I'll die." She spoke elegantly and simply, because it was the truth. Already; the two words that had been spoken were resounding in her head, over and over and over and she felt madness stirring like dust in her veins. Gently, she sat down in the chair and picked up her violin. "I will play for you, Sir. Would you perhaps applaud me?"  
  
  
  
Erik lay on the floor, slumping against the wall that allowed him to see and hear the girl's music being played. His heart was skipping erratically, ironically enough it seemed to be in time with the notes of the violin. He couldn't breathe and fire seemed to be consuming him from within. He grasped at the air with his long, sensual fingers but the darkness could not support and he did not stand. Again, he fell against the wall, slightly panting.  
  
Beautiful.it is beautiful..." he breathed to himself, wondering where a little girl could learn to play like that, so perfectly. Her technique, of course, had room for improvement. Almost like punctuation to his though, the girl hit the wrong note and Erik cringed. It was barely noticeable, in fact the conductor probably wouldn't have noticed. But Erik heard it and to his perfectionist mind it was a blaring mistake.  
  
Once more he struggled to get up, and once more he failed. He wanted to go, go to his rooms and just read and sleep and wait for the end. Christine was gone; gone and happy with the young Raoul, which was all very grand and fine but left him with little or no reason to wake up every morning. He cursed when he rose and found himself still facing the same tomb; wanting, hoping, wishing to wake up either deeper underground, or (dare he say it?) a little higher.  
  
Perhaps this girl, who had an instrument instead of a voice would become his new Angel. an Angel that led him upwards instead of dragging him down to hell. Suddenly, he was overtaken with the memory of Christine; the sweet and beautiful girl whose mind he had taken, kidnapped, perhaps even raped was the right word, all for his love of music. He remembers.oh, he remember her eyes, her sweet blue eyes and her shining hair that was the only sun in the darkness of his mind. He.he remembered her kiss.  
  
Finally, his heart slowed and his panting ceased and he found the strength to stand. Erik leaned against the mirror for support, resting his hand against the cool glass. He watched her face, her dark blue eyes clear and sharp in concentration, her light hair falling into her face. Her fingers were slim and long; they reached notes effortlessly. Her forehead was creased, her brow furrowed. She was playing an old, slow song that Erik recognized but it could not remember. "She's playing for you." he thought to himself. And what if she really did die? It would be his fault. And what harm could come, really, in befriending a girl who was already crazy enough to talk her violin? Surely, no one would take her seriously if she raved about an Angel of her dressing room! And who was to say she'd rave about it, anyway?  
  
Quickly, before he'd have any second thoughts, he sang a soft song, just loud enough to be heard over the solitary violin.  
  
"night time sharpens, heightens each sensation...darkness stirs and wakes imagination."  
  
Kristina stopped playing and caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror, and for a moment she did not recognize herself. Her eyes were sparkling and on her face was an expression of pure joy never known there before. But it didn't matter. "Oh, oh, oh, Sir! Thank you, sir, thank you!" She was nearly weeping with happiness. Behind the glass, Erik was smiling through his tears. He said: "Play for me, child"  
  
She did so. 


	3. Unknowing Audition

Fiend Angelical  
  
  
  
The Monsieur Conducteur conductor was walking (rather grumpily, truth be told) towards the dressing room. He was accompanied by the rather sheepish musicians who had seen the girl.  
  
Their music had been less then perfect that night (not that anyone of those clowns who attended noticed!) and it made Monsieur Conducteur angry. He had snapped when they had told him about the young girl waiting for him in the back. He demanded to know if any of them had heard her, and when the negative was given he had snapped even more. "Tell me, why should I waste my time on a whore's brat when my own orchestra sounds like a cat!"  
  
To this they had no answer, other than that the poor thing was waiting, had been for some time. They gently persuaded him, and when they finally had him they still feared for the girl's health. suddenly stopped short, a hand cupped around his ear.  
  
Their ears straining, they heard the sweetest, purest, beautiful music they'd ever heard.  
  
Monsieur Conducteur's eyes were fairly bulging. He shoved the member of his orchestra aside and ran the rest of the way, following the sweet strains of music, and burst in the door.  
  
The girl stopped immediately, and snapped to her feet. Her face was flushed, and her cheeks were a deep red. Her eyes stood out, huge and blue and sparkling. Her slightly wet hair was flaxen; and deeply and sweetly reminded Monsieur Conducteur of his first sweetheart. She was tall, sturdy and surprisingly beautiful.  
  
"Were you the one playing that?" he breathed when he could, gesturing at the violin. She smiled, and it radiated happiness. "Yes." He found himself smiling back at her, something he rarely did. "Well, girl, what do you want?"  
  
"My name's Kristina, and I'd like a place in your orchestra."  
  
  
  
"Mademoiselle Kristina, for a violinist of such caliber there is always a place in my orchestra!" Her eyes grew wide with happiness, and she tried to express her gratitude. "Ah! Ah! Danke, You will sit in the first seat! Tomorrow is Sunday, and there is never any show on Sunday. You will begin rehearsal on Monday. In the meantime, Kristina, do you have anyplace to be?"  
  
Her eyes broke from his, and they traced patterns over the ground. "Herr~ I mean, Monsiuer, I was wondering.would it be at all possible if I could stay here?" She looked up once, swiftly and then resumed staring at the apparently interesting floor. "That would be fine! Are you sure it would be warm enough?" Kristina resisted the urge to hop up and down, she was so thrilled. "Oh, oh thank you! Thank you so much! I promise I will work hard and even learn French, most beautiful of beautiful languages! Ach, danke!" Kristina was hugging her beloved Signor tightly to her chest, practically exploding with happiness.  
  
Monsiuer laughed, and gently shut the door behind him. Kristina twirled around in her beautiful dress, in her beautiful room with her beautiful instrument and the beautiful Voice. "Oh, Signor, everything is going to be perfect! Perfect!" And she stopped and curtsied deeply, so low her nose brushed against the floor. "Thank you, Sir," she said gravely. The Voice was touched, but all He said was a simple "You're welcome." 


	4. Who teaches the prodigy?

Fiend Angelical  
  
  
  
That night, as Kristina lay curled in an armchair (a heavy blanket had draped over her by a passing porter) with one hang curled tightly around the scroll of her violin. Erik emerged from his mirror and stood over her, admiring the way her golden locks fell against her pale face. She was quite a pretty child. He gently reached out and stroked her cheek. She murmured softly and tightened her grip on 'Signor'. The murderer smiled. Softly, sweetly, with his godlike voice, he sang her a slumber free from nightmares, full of lovely dreams. It was the best sleep of her life.  
  
The next day, however, Kristina dreamed of darkness, and a white face peering out at her, and it stank of death. She woke up with blood on her lips and a scream on her tongue. She called for her mother; she didn't know where she was. Erik answered her, and she cried, sobbed with relief when he tried to sooth her with his voice. The golden sound wrapped around her like a blanket; and finally she slept.  
  
On Monday morning, she woke up early, showered and brushed her hair until it shone. She cleaned Signor, tuned him to perfection and swept a curtsy as she walked out of her room. "I'll be watching." whispered the Voice. Kristina smiled.  
  
There were some odd looks when the young girl walked into the rehearsal and began applying rosin to her bow. They elbowed and stared; when they asked her if she was lost they were met with stony silence and patronizing blue eyes.  
  
Monsiuer Condecteur arrived as angry as usual but to everyone's great surprise he flashed a small expression that wasn't quite a frown in young girl's direction. She beamed back at him.  
  
"Very well. Let us begin. Henri, give us an A!"  
  
And so Kristina's career at the Parisian Opera house begun.  
  
  
  
She was undeniably talented, and it wasn't just for her age. She could match any of the old seasoned violinists, play just as fast or quietly or as well as any of them. A little grumbling was heard when she was promoted to first seat; but Kristina was sweet and most of the musicians didn't begrudge her success. Instead, they whispered and rumored and guessed who was it, who was it that taught her? 


	5. The Persian Makes an Appearance

Fiend Angelical  
  
  
  
Exhausted, Kristina collapsed onto her make shift bed, her head sinking deeply into the cushions. "No lessons tonight, please Sir," she whispered, more to herself then to her teacher. "I'm so.tired." She lifted up her fingers and saw them; red, swollen, throbbing and sighed. Nestling her head into her shoulder; she fell asleep.  
  
Erik stared, glassy eyed and trembling. His eyes glowed for a terrible moment in the darkness; a bright lethal yellow and Kristina frowned in her sleep. He shut his eyes, ridding the world of that awful light and breathed deeply; letting the anger out with each gasp of air.  
  
He then admonished himself.she was just a child, much younger even than Christine. Christine had been absolutely devoted to him; and she still had trouble obeying him. He must just let this lapse of character pass. He must not.  
  
Numbness in his left arm caused his train of thought to waver off course. His heart burned; and he fled the sleeping child and ran deep, deep underground to his living tomb.  
  
Kristina didn't wake until it was much later; past midnight. She stretched indelicately; scratching at her rib cage. Yawning; she slipped into a white and lacey rob and paced around her small apartment. She jumped up and down, crossed her legs. Frowning; she grabbed Signor for company and left, searching for the nearest bathroom.  
  
Impatiently she searched; she had always used the lavatory nearest the practice hall. That was one however, was extremely far away. Sighing with relief, she ducked into a ladies room. Making a mental note of where it was, she exited.  
  
However, she was no longer tired. Cursing herself for falling asleep so early, she decided to wander a bit, let herself get acquainted with this new and beautiful home.  
  
Wonderingly, almost in awe she haunted the passages, running her fingers over the smooth surfaces, letting them dance over the beautiful walls. The opera house was very much empty now, the patrons were home, the players in bed. Free from her exhaustion and rehearsal, she opened every door that wasn't locked; let her form feel the immense history this building held. To her great delight, she found a carefully concealed trap door, under a rug. When she tried to pull it open, a sound not unlike the shriek of a wounded dog echoed through the corridor. She quickly let go and hurried away while dismissing the noise as a gust of wind through the drafty halls. Kristina approached the stage, found herself on it. Laying Signor carefully on his side, the girl curtsied to invisible applause, grinning broadly. "Merci, remerciez vous, mesdames et messieurs!" she cried, her accent likely to cause any Frenchmen to cringe.  
  
A single pair of hands clapped dryly. "Wunderbar, Freline." said an old man sarcastically. Kristina's face dropped its grin and its glow. She wrapped her robe tightly around her waist. The old man, his skin curiously darker than it should've been for a native Frenchman, approached the stage, and picked up Signor.Revulsion paced through her. She did not want this lecherous ancient thing touching her pure and good friend. "Hey!" she called. "Put that down!" He didn't even look up, but began plucking at the strings. Furious and feeling somehow invaded; she scrambled over the vast expanse of the stage and all but snatched her violin away. "I isaid/i to put that idown/i!" He raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. He smiled, and some of his teeth were missing. Kristina cringed and began to walk away.  
  
"Kristina!" he called. She stopped where she was and without turning said "What?" through gritted teeth. "There was another girl like you, once. Young and pretty, and she had an extraordinary talent for music. I know how she got so good, Kristina. I knew who was giving her lessons. No one has seen her for five years."  
  
At this, Kristina turned around. "What are you saying, Herr?" she asked with blue eyes slitted with suspicion. "I'm not saying anything. Have you ever seen your teacher, Freline? Ever seen his face?" When her cheeks drained slowly of color, he cackled. "Didn't think so. Go poke around in Box Five, Mademoiselle. See what you find!"  
  
Something black moved behind Kristina and she whipped around. The shadow of a top hat was gone before it was really there. When she faced the old man, he was gone. "He doesn't know what he's talking about, does he Signor?" she said loudly to her instrument. "Sir would never do anything to hurt us! Never!" she all but yelled, and it echoed reassuringly. With a hurried glance at Box Five, Kristina exited the stage. 


	6. Demons All Around

Fiend Angelical  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^I'm so happy that you guys like this! -eyes fill with tears- You like me, you really like me! lol, well, here's part six! There's a little more action, I guess, in this one. Please don't forget to review!!!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
She was a little tired now, but she didn't feel like going to bed. There were still some places left to see, and it was still very dark outside. Not even the faint hint of dawn was on the sky. Smiling and humming to herself, she opened a door to find stairs, stairs and rafters going higher and higher until she couldn't see. Tying Signor securely to her waist with the belt of the robes, she used both hands and hoisted herself up into the sky.  
  
She ended up on the roof, and it was beautiful. The stars were out, and Kristina thought they looked like the jewels sewn into a queen's gown she had once seen. "A night for lovers!" she said to herself. Her father had often said that to her mother, on warm, clear nights where the starlight went to people's heads. Kristina giggled. "A night for lovers.but I haven't got one.."  
  
Her sudden good mood ebbed away, until she saw the marble wonder that once two young lovers had huddled under, searching for relief from a monster. But Kristina knew none of this and walked over to the large statue of Apollo. Gently, blushing a little, she rose onto her toes and kissed his smooth, cold cheek. He still stared ahead; unnerving wisdom in his stone eyes; but Kristina thought perhaps that the atmosphere was a little less oppressing. She leaned against her new friend, taking comfort in his presence. "I think." she whispered in his marble ear "that you are what Sir looks like." She smiled, as if relieving herself of a burdensome secret. She then took Signor to her chin and began to play.  
  
At the sound of violin, Erik cried out.  
  
Kristina sharply turned; her violin clattered to the ground. Upon seeing his monstrous face and glowing eyes, she screamed and fled. Her robe caught on Apollo's lyre and ripped off. She turned swiftly to retrieve it, and her fallen instrument.  
  
But the monster, the disgusting dead thing that was somehow alive was crouched over it. "NO!" she cried, and all the sadness she ever had in her life was behind that word. The monster turned and looked at her; she saw the very same despair reflected in his sunken eyes. "Child." he began, and in that word Kristina recognized and knew.  
  
Biting back anguished and horrified sobs she tripped and stumbled her way down the steps and roping, tears soaking her cheeks.  
  
She ran through the halls of the now foreboding and dark opera house- she hadn't noticed before how many places there were to hide, for frightening creatures to lurk. She opened the door to her room and slammed it shut behind her. She paused momentarily to lock it; which she had never done before.  
  
She then threw herself on the bed and sobbed; her heart broke for the friend she would now surely never see again; her beloved instrument that was now in the hands of that beast. And for her beautiful wonderful teacher.her Sir. That couldn't be him.it was a trick, her mind playing tricks on her.  
  
When at last the sobs subsided a little, she found herself thirsty and sat up, looking about for her water jug. On the table was her violin. 


	7. Fairy Tale's End

Fiend Angelical  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^yay! Here's part seven! I'll probably be posting part eight later today; but I haven't sent it off to my editor yet. Or written the second half ^^; I hope you like this. Please review or you'll make me cry ;_;*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
Quite disbelieving, she picked up her instrument, as if afraid it would crumble at her touch. She looked Signor over, plucked at the strings. With a loving stroke, she lay it back on the table.  
  
"You LIED to me!!!" she cried, tears running down her face. "You're a monster! An ugly cowardly monster who won't show his face!" She slammed her fist down on the table; she had never been this angry before. She had loved, worshipped, even, the angelical voice, and in the end it had all been a dream. Her tears were hot and real and many; pain overtook her and she let it out with cries.  
  
It was those sobs that brought Erik from his tomb. He pressed his hand against the mirror, curling his palm around the girl whose mind he had taken. He had torn away the sweet fairy tale he had woven around the girl; a tale he almost believed. She had thought he was a ghost, an angel, a nameless entity that had chosen her because of her talent. But now her dream had turned into a nightmare; her angel a demon with a death's head. Cursing himself, he brought his fist down on the mirror.  
  
The crash made Kristina look up, and when she saw what was there, she screamed. Her Sir, her very own beloved Sir was standing there, a mask clutched in his hand, tears coursing down his deadened skin. "Kristina." he said and it was neither a plead nor a command. It was the first time he had spoken her name and both were acutely aware of it.  
  
She closed the distance between them in mere moments; Erik barely saw her move. She pummeled his chest with her fists, hitting harder and harder; blows a weaker man would've crumpled under. "You tricked me! You lied! I loved you!-" here she sobbed with rage and Erik nearly collapsed from the sound. "And you LIED!!!" the girl collapsed against him, sobbing passionately into his shirt.  
  
Even though she was tall and strong, Erik's eerie power easily overcame her. He wrenched her from him and placed her on a chair. She still cried, and Erik didn't know what to do. He paced wildly in the chamber, his mind reeling, his conscience crying.  
  
"How could you be so stupid as to let her see you? Incompetent imbecile! Stupid! Stupid!" He cursed himself, over and over. Finally he bent on his knees, and took Kristina's wrists in his gloved hands, beseeching her to be quiet. With his voice, which still held her in sway, he calmed her enough to make her listen.  
  
"Kristina; this is exactly why I didn't show you my face. I wanted to teach you, to help you-" The girl shook her head violently and tried to free her arms. His grip tightened to an almost alarming level. "Listen to me!" he hissed, his voice ugly with frustration. She stopped squirming and stared at the floor, unable to look at his face.  
  
"Now, Kristina, be patient. Let me explain. I was born like this; it was an accident. But." She had started panicking again, and he shook her violently "Kristina! Listen! I breathe and sleep and eat just as you do. You have no reason to fear me. Do you hear!? No.reason." He punctuated each word by shaking her shoulders.  
  
Her face was very, very white and her eyes were very, very large. She whispered something, murmured unheard words. Erik leaned closer, putting his ear to her lips.  
  
"I.I can't do it.I can't -look- at you."  
  
Sighing, Erik fitted the mask into place. He placed a hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "See, Kristina? I can make that face go away.I can do lots of things.would you like me to show you..?"  
  
Her lips moved again, but no sound came out. "What? What is it?"  
  
"What's your name, Monsiuer?" she laughed, just a little when Erik half- cringed and half smiled with pride as she butchered his mother tongue.  
  
"They call me- Erik" 


	8. Reality

Fiend Angelical  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^bonjour, mon ami! As our lovely, murderous friend Erik would say! I'm sorry for all the terribly long delays, but my muse had fled, and took all will to write this story with her. I deeply apologize! Another part will soon follow this one, very soon. I'm nearly done with it.Thanks so much for reading, and please don't forget to review, it brightens my whole day!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
And so, the girl and the monster continued their lessons. Erik was aware of the fine thread of sanity he was leading her by and was extremely gentle with her. Kristina, although she still thought of him with worshipful devotion; was simply not able to love him without the mask. When he had it on, she could converse with him like the father, the mentor, the friend she'd never had. The single time he'd appeared without it (how he hoped she wouldn't notice!), she'd hardly been able to bring her eyes off the floor, her voice above the quietest whisper. And her playing was atrocious. So Erik, going back to habits ingrained upon him in earlier days, never left his apartments without the mask. It hurt him, hurt him deeply that he who'd only shown her kindness was not able to be in the same room with her without his face hidden. He knew it was awful, god knows he knew it! But she had no reason.no reason.like a worm in the apple of their affection; the mask slowly ate away at all the goodness.  
  
That's not to say Kristina didn't love having a real tutor, one she could touch and speak to, and watch. Erik despite what he though, was extraordinarily charming. Kristina thought him to be better than anyone she's ever met and she loved watching him almost as much as listening to his angel's voice. He moved with an eerie, liquid ease that never stopped to amaze her. She had been a clumsy child, and the fact that he could just walk with such grace was profoundly beautiful to her.  
  
He astounded her, with his magic tricks and ventriloquism and the pure radiant brilliance of his mind. He would tell her stories until his beautiful voice was hoarse from speaking and still she would beg for more, hanging onto the loveliness of every word. He could produce roses out of thin air, conjure up angels with his voice, show her glimpses of paradise with his words. His hands, always gloved, were painfully, unnaturally thin and contradictorily sensual. She adored watching them move, whether just heightening the effects of a story with his magnificent gestures or guiding her own, comparatively uncoordinated hands to the right heights on her violin. In short, she adored her Erik, loved him like the family she'd never had. Erik had never been loved before, never had a little girl run across the room at the sound of his foot steps and throw her arms around him in a clumsy embrace. The first time she had done so, he had cried a little under his mask. He had never been voluntarily held close before, except that one time.  
  
But Kristina loved him and she was an affectionate child. She held onto his hands when they hung in his lap; she threaded her arm through his when they walked the corridors at night. And indeed, she leapt up when he came and saw her.  
  
But still, she could not bear him without the mask . . . 


	9. Ecstasy

Fiend Angelical  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^bonjour encore, mes amis! This part is rather poetic-ish and kinda of dreamy, I guess. It's also fairly long. I hope you enjoy, and please don't forget to review!!! It makes me so happy! Seriously, I like jump up and down with joy when I get reviews, even when they're like 'you suck" so go ahead and make my day! Don't be shy! lol, now go on and read the tale!*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
It was her first performance- she was terrified. Absolutely, unbelievably terrified. After playing in the streets for bread, after playing for the Queen- but no, wait, that memory was much too tragic to recall at this crucial moment. But, after everything she'd been through, she was frightened.  
  
She sat so still she was scarcely breathing, scarcely alive. Her face was deathly pale under the flush of nervousness, her eyes huge and glassy, so dark blue they were nearly black. She sat in a black gown supplied for her by Erik. She no longer looked like a little girl, but the young woman she was, in that off-the-shoulder dress. Erik had known this and had promised himself to be particularly watchful of her, in case one of the young rich brats got a little.out of line.  
  
She sat, Signor resting on her lap, her hands hanging uselessly at her sides. She was staring at herself in the mirror, with an almost frightening intensity. She was waiting for her Angel to come, for him to come and soothe her with his loving, passionate voice. It was almost time to go, the clock handle ticking closer and closer to her time of departure. She sang softly to herself, only her lips moving. Her eyes remained locked on the images of themselves in the mirror; and all she saw in them was fear.  
  
The door opened. Kristina didn't move. "Freline!" called Pierre, one of the percussionists. They had taken to calling her the German word for 'miss.' Kristina found it amusing. "It's time to go on, Freline." trailed off Pierre, a little disturbed that she wouldn't turn and look at him. "I'll be right.right there." she said, still not turning. Pierre shrugged and gently shut the door, shaking his head as he left.  
  
"Erik." whispered Kristina, and a tear traced it's way down her cheek. Suddenly, he appeared in all his deathly glory, right behind her. She swept up, and turned, burying her head in his cloak. "I'm scared." she whispered into the lapels of his coat. He awkwardly raised a hand and patted her head. "Nonsense! You know you're better than all those fools out there. I won't hear of you talking badly of yourself. Now go, you're going to be late." She murmured something, and he took her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at me "Hmm, my dear?" She closed her eyes and drew in a long, shuddering breath "I thought you weren't coming." Erik laughed. "Of course I was coming! Why wouldn't I? I'll be watching the whole time, as well. Now hurry, or you'll miss your first show!" Kristina smiled and for the first time, Erik saw how beautiful she could be. She squeezed his hand for final reassurance and than turned and ran, all but galloping down the hallway.  
  
Erik smiled and sighed; wondering at the sudden, irrational stage fright that had taken over the child. Tonight she would triumph, but it would be a quiet triumph. No wildly applauding audience, no bouquets after the show. She was hidden, her radiance hidden under the stage, her talent tucked neatly away into the orchestra pit. Erik sighed. At her age, he had felt the desire for applause more strongly than anything. He didn't know how she could bear it, having such a gift.and simply hiding it away. He had seen her bowing, oh yes! He had seen her curtseying in front of the mirror, accepting silent applause from invisible audiences.it had amused him at first, before he began to see himself in these escapades.how it almost paralleled what he had been doing to Christine.using his brilliance, all of his strong and passionate mind to convince her he deserved applause.he just wanted.he had only wanted.But, no.  
  
Now was not the time to think of his fallen idyll. He had a new angel, this girl that was neither beautiful nor hideous, but so loving it nearly broke his cantankerous heart. He stared at his hands for a moment, remembering the touched from his different angels.  
  
Christine's soft, soft hands, like living silk gently caressing his deadened flesh. Kristina's callused fingers, rough little scars adorning the tips, the finger nails cut painfully low, to ease her transitions on the violin.  
  
Suddenly he balled his hands into fists, tucking his own supernaturally long fingers into his palm. Some memory stirred in the depths of his twisted brain, one that we cannot see but know must have caused him great pain. His eyes glazed over, he became stiff and cold. He vibrated slightly, as if the music was reaching toward for him, through the walls, and beating it's own time into his skull. His hands pressed so hard that the fingertips broke through the gloves, imprinting little crescent scratches into his palm. When his white gloves began to stain crimson, jumped and cursed, waving off the offending clothing with a flap of his hand. They flew across the small changing room and landed, forgotten on the floor; white scraps of cloth, besotted with little bits of blood. Erik scowled and turned, a dark mood overtaking him. And all the lovely music he heard that night was only just enough to bring him back together.  
  
Her heart was pounding so hard she thought all the musicians could hear it. Her knuckles around Signor were white, but she had enough control now that her fingers were the only sign of her nervousness. The conductor raised his hand, signaling for silence. Kristina raised Signor to her chin, tucking him into her so swiftly and neatly it was like they were one, the instrument and the girl. And then they played.  
  
This was the only time Kristina ever felt whole. It didn't matter her parents didn't care, or were dead or dying or wherever they were. It didn't matter she had lived on the streets for so very very long. It didn't matter that she had been hungry and cold and dirty and abused and used and hit and smacked and bled. It didn't matter that the only person she loved was a man with an angel's voice and a devil's face.  
  
all she knew was the sound  
  
the glorious sound  
  
she felt connected to a brighter, sweeter universe. one without limits or boundaries, nothing was stopping her, nothing at all.she was free, flying, sweet sound filling her and bursting through to reach towards everyone, and anyone and she was a part of everyone and everyone was a part of her.  
  
This time, however, the loveliest sound ever dominated her waking-dream. Erik's voice was with her, teaching, guiding, chastising, encouraging, praising.  
  
She made the best music she ever had.  
  
The audience applauded and it was like a drug. She craved, wanted, needed more; but she looked wildly around for the one face she cared about, the one whose respect she desired more than anything.  
  
And glinting from box five was a mask and now she could see the black garments that clothed her angel (for at this moment, he was her beloved angel once again) and she could see his hands, for the first time uncovered (his fingers were such an odd sight!) and he was applauding, the sounds loud and un-muffled and proud.  
  
And suddenly, that was enough, and she fell  
  
into europhia and she knew  
  
no  
  
more 


	10. Finale

Fiend Angelical  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ Alas, my friends, all good things must come to an end. Here is the final chapter. I hope you all enjoy it, and please review. Thanks for sticking along for the ride! Peace 'n' love happy~chaos *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
  
In a drunken daze she rose with the rest of the orchestra, and exited. She ignored the slaps on her back, the congratulations, the praise. She smiled radiantly and her face seemed positively burning with passionate, fierce joy. She looked on edge, as if at any moment she would burst into a thousand, a million little fiery pieces of glory. She wandered through the hallways, enjoying the victorious feeling. Signor was gripped as always in her pale, long hand. She moved slowly, decidedly, although she did not know her destination.  
  
It was only until the cold Parisian wind made her shiver that she realized she was on the roof. The stars were reflected in her eyes  
  
-behind those pretty and empty blue screens, the whole world is laughing-  
  
Her father had written that; about her. The joy ebbed away, slowly at first but then pouring out when she remembered the soft and quiet man and the soft and gentle woman and the little house on a hill in Salzkotten. After the joy was gone she felt empty, because it had filled all the forgotten places, the places she hadn't known were empty until they had been full. She put her head into her hands and leaned against Apollo, but she did not cry. But the laughter behind the pretty and empty blue screens was gone.  
  
The wind whipped at her hair, whipping it sharply against her face. As high as she had been before, she was now at the other end of the spectrum. Her world seemed dark, bleak, and no prideful angel to make things right. She murmured some lamentations in her native German, and sighed. She didn't belong here, not really. She could be accepted and exalted and praised, but this still wouldn't really be her home. She laid Signor gently on the ground, and then swung an arm around Apollo's neck. Pushing off from the ground, she hoisted herself and astradle over his back. She folded her long legs neatly under her, and threw her head back, gazing at the stars.  
  
Her eyes ached, but she still shed no tears. This sadness was one long held, and beyond tears, now.  
  
"What am I doing here?' she said, but her voice was monotonous and held no question.  
  
Unseen, but felt as a comforting presence, Erik stood behind her. The sound of a single violin, playing a waltz whispered in her ears. She pushed herself off the statue and turned, facing Erik. He inclined his head and bent stiffly from his waist. A bow. He extended his hand, and said in a low voice, "May I have this dance, Mademoiselle?"  
  
Smiling and blushing, she nodded and took his hand. Together, the little girl and the old monster danced, on top of the world. He cradled her close, like the father who was missing should have. She felt small and precious, and liked the feeling. Swiftly and surely, certain knowledge flowed into her head, invaded her body. She knew what she should have a long, long time ago.  
  
Shyly but with purpose, her fingers found the edges of Erik's mask. He froze, caught completely off guard. Her fingers were rough little bits of skin against a face nearly completely untouched by flesh.  
  
He raised a hand, a warning, a stop sign, a plea, a question, so many symbols and meanings in that one simple gesture that Kristina's head filled with the complicity of it.  
  
"No," she whispered, and Erik didn't have the heart to deny her. They stayed like that, frozen in an endless forever, Poised on the brink of so many things; childhood, adolescence, innocence, depravity. They were the populace of the world, and both were unsure of what they were. What a strange sight they would have made- a girl in an evening gown with fingers resting lightly on the mask of a cloaked and sensuous figure. Kristina has the oddest sensation that she was someone else, watching a silly little girl doing something dangerous below and unable to intervene. But then she was back inside herself and her fingers were her own. She was filled with a kind of grim determination, and the knowledge lent her sudden wisdom.  
  
She lifted the mask from his face, and then there were no boundaries between them. Yellow eyes haunted by a lifetime of cruelty stared into suddenly mature blue ones, and found that they were, in fact, the same.  
  
Kristina laughed, long and heartily, and Erik smiled. She caught her breathe for a moment at sight of the twisted features, but then let it out in a relieved sigh She was the child again, and he was the parent. She was given another chance, and so was he. Another chance to be happy, for the short while he had left. Kristina took his hand and swung it gaily, suddenly chattering of everything and nothing and the world was good, good.  
  
Erik saw their future with perfect clarity. He would grow older and weaker, and watch as Kristina grew and became beautiful. She would marry (a deserving gentleman, of course) and be happy and he would die, contented.  
  
They left the roof together. The mask, once such a terrifying wall between them, was now an almost pitiable piece of white cloth starkly conspicuous against cold ground, nothing more than a child's plaything. All the nightmarish power had fled from it.  
  
And as this tale began with a cliché, so it shall end with one.  
  
Kristina and Erik, the pupil and the teacher, the girl and the monster, the musician and the violinist, the daughter and the father.  
  
They lived happily ever after. 


End file.
